We are incredibly excited to announce some other news this week. I yelled it out in the middle of the grocery store to my friend on the phone: We’re debt free!!!
Seven years of hard work, we are so thankful. We know just as God has proved faithful to help us overcome this mountain, He will be faithful in the journey ahead.
A few weeks ago, Matthew and I penciled, no, more like cemented, this week into our calendar as our vacation week. Unbeknownst to us, God had a reason for that.
This vacation finds us in the hospital with IV steroids pumping into Matthew’s body. Wednesday night, close to midnight, his airways started to get worse. We hopped into the van and started driving to the ER. About ten minutes into the drive, Matthew mouthed the word “faster” to me and so I put the petal to the metal and accepted the challenge of driving as fast as I could without one worry of being pulled over. Escorted, perhaps, but not given a speeding ticket. I’ve never felt life hanging in the balance so palpably before, and I prayed my heavy foot would outweigh the looming reality that death was hovering. God’s presence strengthened my shaking hands and churning stomach.
We made it and were whisked right into the ER where he was given a breathing treatment and steroids. Four hours later, he was admitted. Our first hospital vacation that doesn’t involve having a baby, began. After having a CT scan of his neck, seeing a pulmonary specialist, ENT specialist and Rheumatologist, it is evident that our dear old friend Wegener’s Granulomatosis has said hello again. Rarely does it move to the throat, but Matthew is a rare guy so it seems fitting. Currently, he is on high doses of IV steroids to calm down the inflammation in the subglottic region of his throat (right under his vocal chords). Technically, he has what is called subglottical stenosis , which is a lot of inflammation under his vocal chords, leading to obstructed airways. It explains the loss of voice, steady worsening of symptoms, and hard-to-diagnose reason for his difficultly breathing. There are a variety of treatment options, and we are currently working with the rheumatologist to decide which route to take. It is not a quick and easy fix. Hopefully he can be released soon to continue treatment at home, but for now we’ll enjoy the gentle beeping of hospital machines, the untimely drawing of blood and plastic dome-covered dinners.
Throughout this experience, we’ve been overwhelmed by the love of family and friends.
Matthew encouraged me yesterday with Psalm 46 and these thoughts:
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. To the extent we suffer trouble, we experience God’s help. We can not know God’s help unless we experience trouble. Therefore, we will not fear.
I hate lost things, I muttered to myself as I slouched across our bed for the umpteenth time today, tears making my cough worse. It started with a lost library movie. Which I found lying nonchalantly under someone’s bed. Then when we were finally ready to actually GO to the library I noticed the keys we needed were not on my carabiner. Thus began lost things, take two. An hour later and still no keys, but plenty of tears, I gave up and plopped across our bed again. Everything lost perspective, became a blur, and I could only see annoyance, not providence.
Elijah said to me, Mom, do you think that maybe God has a reason we can’t find the keys? I prickled at his astuteness amidst my tearing apart of our house. Yes, I’m sure He does, but I have no idea what it is. My voice was not exactly dripping with grace.
Yeah, He always has a reason, Elijah remarked calmly.
I wasn’t really listening to my nine-year-old and his wisdom, but I’m listening now.
My mind also wanders to a song known by many.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see.
I’m so glad Jesus doesn’t hate lost things. He has a mind-blowing purpose for each and every one of us: lost and ugly sinners. When we let ourselves be found by Him, we become part of the biggest search and rescue effort ever launched. The key to getting found is to recognize you are lost. And you know what? He never, ever, gives up.
A quiet, squeaky voice is all she has left right now. The barky cough sends warning signals coursing through my mommy brain. Betty always seems more bitty when she’s sick. The yellow crayon band-aid was little comfort to the painful steroid shot received at the doctor this morning. Although this is about the third day I’ve eaten lunch at two o’clock-ish, and haven’t donned my chef hat for at least as long, I’m trying to get a closer perspective. To get outside these four walls of thinking, to see what might be lost in worry.
Recently a friend of mine gave me a macro lens for my camera. It basically brings into focus what the naked eye rarely sees. I just went outside to see what I normally don’t see because I’m either too busy or unconcerned. The mirror-like water droplets reflecting back the sky.
Intricate geranium buds bursting with potential.
Delicate folds of each rose petal.
At first I only saw the daisy, then I saw the insect.
Then I finally saw the life and death struggle between spider, victim, and concerned friend.
At first I only saw striking orange flowers. Then I saw their detail, like the most beautifully layered ruffles on a skirt.
Then I saw the pollen tucked under this guy as he searched for more.
I only saw the gangling tomato plant, but then the brilliant caterpillar came into view. His amazing colors and feet captivated my attention.
God gives astounding attention to detail. He dresses the flowers in ruffles and hues the best seamstresses can never replicate. He paints the caterpillar the most amazing color of green with fun yellow dots. He knows about our struggles and pain. He cares about you. Today one of our children asked me why Betty had to get sick. I simply have no answer to that question, or any of the millions of other hurts only God knows about.
————————————–
Immediately after writing that, Elsie came inside, blood coming out from all around her mouth. Her top lateral incisor gone, and blood still flowing, we decided to go to the ER. Even though my mom was on her way, leaving a wheezy, crying Betty to take a crying, bloodied Elsie to the ER felt completely overwhelming. I cried down Route 82 and onto started saying Elsie’s Bible verses out loud to her: Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be afraid, for I am your God. Do not be afraid. You are more important than many small birds. It calmed us both down. Two hours later, we are home, did not find the lost tooth, and she’s smiling a swollen smile. Yes, God cares for us more than we can imagine. He is still good, even through croupy coughs, knocked out teeth, sick kids, and difficult days. Look at who He is closely.
It’s hard to believe a whole week has passed since my friend, Ruthie, left. Ruthie is my friend who, when I was roughly nine years old, used to be my enemy. Finally, our differences became something beautiful and we couldn’t live without each other. We’ve seen each other fall in love, experienced birth, death, joy and pain together. We have friend-shipped from afar, which has always felt a bit like sandpaper on my heart. So I thank God for those couple of years we had together where the only thing that separated us was a dusty African road we could walk by foot. About an hour after she, her husband, and four sweet kids drove away I realized our startling and horrifying overlook. We never took a picture together. This is a very long-standing tradition. Before digital. Before Wal-Mart one-hour-photo. This has been something we’ve done for the past twenty-three years (gulp). Giant hair bows, awful haircuts, crazy clothes, you name it. We have many photos together. But not this time. Regardless, we had a wonderful few days with their family, and nothing quite beats sharing our home and our life with people we love. It pretty much top dogs everything in life.
After they left, we went into town and the boys participated in a last-minute bike race in our neighborhood. Elijah came in 3rd place!
After the bang of fireworks that night, came the explosion of sickness to our house. It hasn’t quite left us yet, but it’s dying.
A few weeks ago Matthew and I were in great need of a date. Before we were married we were told: marriage takes work. Eleven years ago I knew it as an idea, but now I know it by experience. The night of our date we dropped the kids off at a babysitter’s, and headed out into the unknown. Little did we know… that was the problem. We’re usually pretty good about not having a plan. This particular night the hunger pangs and tiredness from a long week were starting to cloud our decision-making process. After a much-too-deliberated-upon discussion on where or what we should eat, things started going south. Details don’t matter at this point. After shooting down one of his ideas, he was in turn shot down, and we literally spent the rest of the evening not talking to each other. We drove East, hoping to find a good chicken BBQ, or maybe someone outside grilling from whom we could mooch a piece of meat. At that point, I didn’t really care. I would glare in his direction, thinking how insensitive he was being towards me, his wife. I would sniff. The tears would trickle down my cheeks. Silence. It was going down in history as the worst date of our married life. We finally ended up at a restaurant not even remotely my favorite, but I requested a salad from it anyway. We went home to eat it because I didn’t want to be seen in public wiping my snotty nose and glaring at my date. I banged around the kitchen and pulled a red plate out of the cupboard so at least I didn’t have to eat out of styrofoam. He grabbed a bag of carrot sticks from the fridge. Carrot sticks. That was about the last straw. If he sat next to me crunching those things while I indulged in a salad with pecan-crusted chicken, the tears would take their seventeenth journey down my face. Still without talking, I pulled out a second plate, split the salad between us, and we sat down to eat in silence. Fifteen minutes later it was time to pick up the kids. Of course, in the last few minutes we started to hash things out. We never did resolve whatever our problem was until the next day. Marriage takes work, they said. It also requires humility, selflessness, and making up, no matter how difficult it can be.
Fast forward to yesterday. Matthew had some work in Long Beach Island, NJ. His family was able to watch the kids so I could tag along with him. We enjoyed an amazing day together. I read my book while he worked, then after he finished his job he took me on a little surprise excursion. We went jet-skiing! I have since learned that a Jet Ski is actually made by Kawasaki and a Waverunner is made by Yamaha. I can’t quite remember which watercraft we actually used, but I think it was a jet ski. As we took off, I left my fear on the dock, embraced my twenty-year-old self, and held onto Matthew’s waist tightly. When we switched positions so I could drive, I revved that thing full throttle. I screamed and laughed and tossed all my worries into the swirling wake behind us as salt water sprayed my face and the wind whipped my hair into a million tangles. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time!
Keeping our marriage fresh takes work, they said. Sometimes the work is hard. Sometimes it just takes a little creativity or letting go of fear. Don’t get tired of doing what’s right, the Bible says. I think this can apply to our marriage. The next right thing may be saying you’re sorry. It may just mean going out for coffee together. Or it might mean finding the best chicken BBQ in your county. Whatever it is, don’t give up.
My scrambled eggs fell into my tea today. Mushrooms and all. I sighed, fished them out with a fork and drank it anyway. Life is spattered with little crazy moments. Like last night around 11PM, when I overheard some men talking outside about a black rabbit. I went out to ask them about it, and sure enough, Toby had escaped again. The next fifteen minutes were spent prancing up and down the street with Matthew, in our bare feet, trying to catch him. Then a friend drove by just in time to see our barefoot-dancing in the street.
I love punctuated moments, like a flourish of red paint on a white wall.
As much as I love the splash of red to dispel the boring, our Father is the expert of dulling put big moments judiciously. He lets our hearts and minds rest from one peak to another, as we hang out in the valleys of life, or hike gently uphill.
He knows we couldn’t handle the mountain peaks forever. Not in our current state of humanness. We would either die by so much amazement, or we would cease to appreciate the amazing.
I was reminded today that our life isn’t always about the big things. Jesus did many big things, but they were mere exclamation points in a steady life of normal. He walked, He talked, He cooked, He ate, He slept, He prayed. He didn’t heal every person who lived while He lived. He didn’t raise every dead person to life. He lived life and then He gave His all away.
He tempers the crazy moments so we can bear up under them. He graces us with reprieve. Like childbirth, hard times don’t go on forever, and they are never without reward.
This morning I read this quote by Oswald Chambers. The greatest hindrance in our spiritual life is that we will only look for big things to do. Yet, “Jesus… Took a towel and… Began to wash the disciples’ feet.” (John 13:3-5)
Sometimes we feel like we deserve to have life handed to us on a beautiful platter. No more pain. No more sickness. No more debt. No more messes. No problems, please and thank you. Yet Jesus didn’t come to make dust magically disappear from off of the disciples tired feet. That would have been pretty grand, but Jesus was about humility. He was not above washing those tired, nasty, smelly, feet, when He too was probably exhausted after a long day’s walk.
As I wash little hands, scrub grimy tubs, wipe table tops and sweep filthy floors, that verse has been pinging back in my head. Jesus took a towel…
In this scrambled life, full of mountaintops and valleys, I can also take a towel and become less.
When I was younger than my oldest daughter, I met two very special girls who walked alongside of me through life. They walked the same African dirt roads with me. They knew all of my awkward crushes and we all guessed at who we’d marry one day. We fought, we made up, and we eventually grew up. Our places on the map are scattered, and our visits are rare. So, when the opportunity came to possibly see one another last weekend, my heart “soared on the wings of anticipation” (my favorite quote from Anne of Green Gables). I prayed day in and day out that a way would be made possible to get my longing heart to Oregon. I was reminded over and over of this verse: Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.– Proverbs 13:12
I had many gut-wrenching moments over the past weeks, but was determined to trust the Lord with whatever answer He gave me. He gently told me, Not this time, Amy. It wasn’t easy to accept that answer, but I know His ways are best, and experienced His grace to comfort my aching heart. I love the promise in that verse: after experiencing the waiting, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and the fulfillment is greater than the original longing.
It’s kind of like gardening in the dead of winter. We planted many seeds, and looked for weeks and weeks at barren ground. I hoped and prayed for beauty to rise from the ugly dirt. It would have been great to experience instant beauty. But God doesn’t do the next-day-garden. He teaches us how to be patient, and sometimes we even feel a little sick when we wait. Then, life starts to emerge from what seemed impossible. Those first blooms are the fulfillment of all those longings. We forget the emptiness when we are so full. Yet we appreciate it so much more because of the hunger.
Hope postponed grieves the heart;
but when a dream comes true, life is full and sweet.
Sometimes it helps me to write out a verse in my own words. This comforted me: When a desire which you expect to be fulfilled, is delayed until the right time, your heart feels sick. But when a strong desire for something that is unattainable becomes a reality, it is like eating from the tree which gives life.
Maybe you’re waiting for something which seems unattainable. His answer might be yes, it might be no, or it might be it a little longer. When it’s perfect, He will make it a reality. Don’t spurn or wish away the aches that come along with the waiting, though.
For me, it wasn’t the right time, and it may never be this side of Heaven. But I know for sure that one day we will experience an unbelievable reunion. We won’t need plane tickets, and we won’t ever need to say goodbye.
Yesterday, Elsie came down to the kitchen with a coonskin hat on her head, and a silky pink polka-dot cape around her neck. In a very serious voice she asked me what I too have been wondering lately: Mom, is it going to rain every day? We’ve been caught in so many deluges the past two weeks! I’ve hung up clothes, only for them to be washed a dozen times in the rain before finally bringing them inside to the spin cycle and clothes dryer, because I really needed that shirt. I’ve gotten showered while running to move the car. Finally, today I was able to bond with the dirt once again and discovered my first daisy! Zucchini growing, flowers planted from seed, now blooming. It does my soul good.
On Wednesday we made out with a huge bin of K’nex for $5 from a used sale. Elijah has been skipping breakfast for the past two days in order to build this amazing contraption.
He often leaves me notes on my phone, can fix bikes, and loves anything electronic.
He also loves apricot jelly. When he was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for himself he saw me about to say something and interjected: I know, I know. No more jelly. That’s what you always say when there’s an inch of jelly on my bread.
I have a knack at going grocery shopping either dangerously close to lunch time, or at midnight. This particular time it was right around noon. Everyone was hungry. As Elsie remarked, her tummy felt backwards. To make up for it, I let the kids pick out a few special items to eat, and we had a spontaneous picnic at the splash park. As we sat on the grass, eating, Elijah looked at me with his orange fingers and said, The one thing that makes me think I’m dreaming is that you would never say yes to Doritos. He grinned and licked his fingers.
Matthew’s youngest brother just graduated from highschool. I’ve known him since he was three years old, which makes me feel very old. What a wonderful young man Jacob has become.
The other day Elsie asked me: Does God hear you when you talk in your head? It’s a wonderful thing that He does, because most of my talking to Him is done that way! While wrestling wet babies out of the kiddie pool. While putting certain children on time-out steps and wondering what on earth to do next. While wiping tables, bottoms, and countertops. While slicing onions and running through a few recipes in my head. While picking up again and again and again. While driving with the background noise at a deafening level. While running a few city blocks in silence. While peeking in on sleeping cherubs in their beds. While doubting, fearing, rejoicing, and giving thanks. He hears our silent prayers.
The past week it seems like our kids have fallen asleep in the weirdest places. While watching a movie, the boys fell asleep like this:
The other night Elsie fell out of bed and kept right on sleeping. I couldn’t lift her back onto her bed, and thought Matthew would before we went to bed. He forgot, and the next morning Elsie informed me that she slept on the floor all night. I felt bad, but it didn’t seem to bother her! Then, one night Jack was determined to wait up until Matthew and I came in from the front porch where we were talking. When I came inside to get something, I almost tripped over his sleeping body.
Both Elijah and Jack had the privilege of going to work with their Daddy one day the past week. Jack created a few things out of scrap wood. Here he is, holding his “Goliath Sword”.
Besides all of the usual keep-the-house-clean-feed-the-bellies-do-laundry-pull-weeds-kind-of-days, I’ve been burning the midnight oil and writing papers to finish up my doula recertification. I am one credit away from mailing in all my paperwork that I’ve been working on for the past three years. I am so excited to check it off my list and delve into school planning for next year. I sold all of my books which we used the past two years, and am excited for our new ones to arrive next week! I am hoping to plan out the bulk of the year before truly relaxing for a couple of months. Matthew has been an incredible support for me as I have pursued my dreams and goals. We are enjoying doing cross-fit together and eating 100% paleo! More on that another time! I do just want to say how incredible Matthew’s health has been since zeroing in on his diet. I have finally come alongside him in eating a disciplined diet and it’s such a blessing to be united in this area. God is teaching us many things as we wait on Him and trust Him with our unknowns. When He says, This is the way, walk in it… we have no choice but to obey. It might just mean eating more vegetables. It might mean how we do school. It might mean staying put. It might mean moving forward.
As busy as it is around here, I always stop to smell the roses. Every day. They’re the old-fashioned, smell-divine variety. Taking in its beauty both in sight and fragrance, I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes, spoken by the One who holds all things together:
Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more important than food, and the body more than clothing? [Yes.] Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? [YES!]
And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? [None of us.]
And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, o you of little faith? Therefore… [because you know these things to be true] do not be anxious…
Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.
-Matthew 6:25-34, selected
Around six o’clock I fight the urge to stay in bed. As I tip-toe past the girls’ room, I get my morning chuckle at how Elsie might be sleeping: sometimes backwards, sideways, or maybe one leg hanging off the bed. By six-thirty I notice every creaky step as I go downstairs. Sometimes in the morning I set my mug down on the table and it seems to wake someone up. My first sip of quiet flows into a river of constant movement and noise. By seven-thirty, someone patters downstairs to join me. By eight o’clock, an entire bowl of rice krispies has been spilled. By nine o’clock a bloody nose has been had, laundry has been washed and hung, and breakfast is cleaned up eighty-percent of the way. By ten o’clock bellies are being refilled and the hose has been used multiple times. By eleven o’clock, bikes have been ridden, imaginations have exploded, and knees have been scraped. By twelve o’clock, bellies rumble again. By one o’clock, number five takes a long afternoon nap, and lunch is cleaned up fifty-percent of the way. By two o’clock books are read. By three o’clock, my name has been said three hundred and forty-seven times. By four o’clock the trampoline has been jumped on and tricks are played.
By five o’clock the laundry comes off the line. By six o’clock, somehow dinner is made. By seven o’clock I’m thinking about bedtime. The kitchen gets cleaned ninety-percent of the way… which means it is never really clean, because it seems to get dirty behind my back whenever I leave it for a few minutes. By eight o’clock everyone is settling. By nine o’clock, I was wrong. Now everyone is settling. By nine-thirty, tears tumble down my exhausted cheeks that haven’t laughed enough for the day. I sneak into bedrooms to see those precious faces, so peaceful as they chase their dreams. By ten o’clock I finally sit side-by-side in bed and talk for a few minutes with my lover. By ten-o-five, he is asleep, I turn over to read, then flip off the light.
Then, tomorrow it starts all over again. Sometimes I fight the spirit inside that wants to throw in the towel, put in my ear-plugs or hide under my bed. I know I’ve been called to be, to love, to empty. To be myself, to be still, to be in the moment. To love hard, love until it hurts, to love without expecting anything in return. To empty my mind of negative thoughts, to empty my schedule of my own agenda, to empty myself of me so I can be full of Jesus. Only then can I truly love.
Grow Old With Me 